Gifts at the end of May
The last week of May brought journeys to my mind. Those times when a moment triggers a montage of all the moments leading up to it.
The fresh black dirt of newly planted fields flying by the car window on the last trip to school for graduation. A decade ago I made the decision to try, not knowing if I’d be able to juggle the unique challenges of sending them out of town. I worked. He wasn’t going to be much help. It was going to be on me. They knew I would do my best. That there would be times sacrifices would need to be made by all of us. That things wouldn’t always go smoothly or perfectly to plan and we’d have to be patient and creative and flexible and talk things through. They wanted to be there. I wanted the better experience for them. We made it work. I smile at the memories now. The beautiful scenery along the drive in all kinds of weather, including the relief of reaching our destination on those white-knuckle days. The long conversations, the laughter, and even the grumpy don’t-talk-to-me mornings. The teams and clubs they joined, trips they went on, teachers they loved, friends they made, unmade, made again as they all grew and changed. That blessedly safe environment they got to grow up in. It is already changing, but I’m thankful their time there was peaceful. As the fields passed on that last drive home, all the unknowns were known, the doubts transformed to achievements, the happy ending written. I will miss the writing of that story and will always be glad we picked up that pen.
Happy Anniversary! She held up five fingers with one hand and made a 0 with the other. She could not say the words. 50 years. I remembered the story of their beginnings. He was 14 and she was 12 when they met. Eventually he was her first date. But his family moved away, he went to war. They both married other people, had children. Ended up divorced and in the same town, where they found each other again. Very different people from those children they had been together. He lived with the nightmares of war, and she struggled to trust after a bad first marriage. But I happened. I was due the beginning of October. She finally gave in and married him May 26. He would hold her hand and smile at her when he’d tell that story. I grew up knowing what love looked like. Its struggles. Its quiet strength. How the foundation of devotion withstood all the cracks and repairs year after year after year. In sickness and in health. His cancer. His heart attack. Her Parkinsons. He takes care of them both now. He understands her unspoken language. He still holds her hand and smiles at her. Those children never could have guessed they were meeting their future.
I decided to show up in September rather than October, so my 5-0 is coming up as well. I find one of the best things, the most poignant thing, is these journeys coming into view. Far enough along to realize the depth and the meaning, how each one I’m a part of and witness shapes me and my own, brings color to my life, shows me what living is all about. Life is a beautiful thing.
The fresh black dirt of newly planted fields flying by the car window on the last trip to school for graduation. A decade ago I made the decision to try, not knowing if I’d be able to juggle the unique challenges of sending them out of town. I worked. He wasn’t going to be much help. It was going to be on me. They knew I would do my best. That there would be times sacrifices would need to be made by all of us. That things wouldn’t always go smoothly or perfectly to plan and we’d have to be patient and creative and flexible and talk things through. They wanted to be there. I wanted the better experience for them. We made it work. I smile at the memories now. The beautiful scenery along the drive in all kinds of weather, including the relief of reaching our destination on those white-knuckle days. The long conversations, the laughter, and even the grumpy don’t-talk-to-me mornings. The teams and clubs they joined, trips they went on, teachers they loved, friends they made, unmade, made again as they all grew and changed. That blessedly safe environment they got to grow up in. It is already changing, but I’m thankful their time there was peaceful. As the fields passed on that last drive home, all the unknowns were known, the doubts transformed to achievements, the happy ending written. I will miss the writing of that story and will always be glad we picked up that pen.
Happy Anniversary! She held up five fingers with one hand and made a 0 with the other. She could not say the words. 50 years. I remembered the story of their beginnings. He was 14 and she was 12 when they met. Eventually he was her first date. But his family moved away, he went to war. They both married other people, had children. Ended up divorced and in the same town, where they found each other again. Very different people from those children they had been together. He lived with the nightmares of war, and she struggled to trust after a bad first marriage. But I happened. I was due the beginning of October. She finally gave in and married him May 26. He would hold her hand and smile at her when he’d tell that story. I grew up knowing what love looked like. Its struggles. Its quiet strength. How the foundation of devotion withstood all the cracks and repairs year after year after year. In sickness and in health. His cancer. His heart attack. Her Parkinsons. He takes care of them both now. He understands her unspoken language. He still holds her hand and smiles at her. Those children never could have guessed they were meeting their future.
I decided to show up in September rather than October, so my 5-0 is coming up as well. I find one of the best things, the most poignant thing, is these journeys coming into view. Far enough along to realize the depth and the meaning, how each one I’m a part of and witness shapes me and my own, brings color to my life, shows me what living is all about. Life is a beautiful thing.
